


Steve’s List

by ohmybgosh



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: “Fine,” he hissed. “Fine I’ll apologize.”“Good. To everyone.” Max crossed her arms. “I’ll know it if you don’t.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 14
Kudos: 186
Collections: harringrove for Australia





	Steve’s List

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ihni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihni/gifts).



> For ihni, who requested 2,500 words of Billy’s post season 2 redemption but I know not the meaning of brevity and you deserve all the words! Thank you thank you for donating I hope you enjoy <3

Billy Hargrove hovered awkwardly on one foot in the Hawkins High parking lot, as one does when one is stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

He toed at a chunk of ice on the snow-covered pavement. 

Max had given him an ultimatum: apologize to everyone, or she’d make his life miserable. 

He had laughed in her face. 

“What’re you gonna do, brat? Color my underwear pink?”

Max glared at him, a mean smile splitting across her freckled little face that reminded him eerily of his own trademark sneer. 

“Nope,” she’d said darkly. “I’ll tell Neil all about your secret; your magazines and those ‘movie dates’ I  _ know  _ were never with girls.”

Billy had felt his face grow pale at that, and resisted the urge to plead with her, or the urge to grab her by the wrist and lock her in her own room until she promised she’d never breathe a word. 

“Fine,” he hissed. “Fine I’ll apologize.”

“Good. To everyone.” Max crossed her arms. “I’ll know it if you don’t.”

“Everyone? Max, c’mon, am I supposed to chase half the losers in this town around for every little thing?”

They’d argued back and forth for half an hour (“I’m not apologizing to Chief Hopper, I don’t even know him, how do you even know him, by the way” - “Which one is Dustin?” - “I have never seen Mrs. Byers in my life, so I broke a dish or two, I get it” - “Ted Wheeler?! Absolutely not”) and finally Max had agreed to a small list of people Billy owed a sincere, heartfelt apology to. 

“Lucas,” she said, crossing her arms. “Apologize for saying nasty things about his family and apologize for putting your hands on him.”

“Fine, yes, of course - ”

“And Steve Harrington.”

Billy sputtered, fumbling over several things to say in his mind, the stupidest of which coming up in a rush, “Why?”

“You punched him! You beat the shit out of him! And you bullied him.” Max jabbed a finger at him accusingly. 

“Fine.”

And thus, here he found himself.

In the high school parking lot, Billy kicked the chunk of ice, glaring at it as it skittered across the frozen lot, as if it had been the one who demanded he begin a perilous, humiliating quest for morality. 

Still shuffling uncomfortably, his toes going numb in his boots, he glanced up and found the BMW parked in its customary spot. 

The bell rang behind him at that moment. Seconds later students flooded out, donning winter jackets, shouldering book-filled backpacks, fishing about for their car keys in their pockets, or dashing off to the buses that idled at the curb. 

Billy shivered, partially from the chilly air and partially from the task at hand. 

It was a little sad, he contemplated coldly, that he knew Steve Harrington’s schedule better than his own. It hadn’t been intentional. But, he supposed, when you spent so much time mooning after someone you were bound to memorize their movements like the back of your hand. 

Steve, he knew, would have been leaving British Literature as the bell rang, shoving a copy of  _ Beowulf _ into his backpack, and making his way to his locker. He would chat there with the cute girl who did cheerleading and had a locker right beside his - she had a boyfriend, Billy had asked around, but apparently things were rocky as the boyfriend got jealous easily. Steve was making things worse, Billy imagined, with his honest and easy smile, those big brown eyes and kissable, pouty little lips of his. They, the girl and Steve, weren’t friends, just friendly between classes by proximity. But it still made Billy’s face heat up with anger when he thought about it. 

In a minute, he mused; watching the buses drive off one by one and students start up their cars, wave goodbye to their friends, light up a smoke before they got home; Steve would shut his locker, give the girl a friendly wave, and push through the front doors, zipping up his jacket and head to his car. 

Billy shivered again, his heart speeding up annoyingly fast. He thought about lighting a cigarette. He took out his pack, shook one out and put it between his chapped lips, but then his hands didn’t seem to want to work properly as Steve strode into view, making his way toward his car, his back to Billy and not noticing him at all. 

Billy stuck the cigarette behind his ear and shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. 

Steve had reached his car. He gave a little wave to someone a few cars away; Billy followed his gaze and recognized Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, climbing into Byers’ old station wagon. 

Steve was unlocking his car now. 

Billy sighed, a deep and shaky breath. It was now or never; if he waited for Steve to get in his car, he figured Steve would lock the doors and drive off, refusing to speak to him. 

He darted forward, nearly slipping on the ice, half wishing he had so that he’d knock himself out and have to tell Max it was a no-go. 

He skidded to a stop at Steve’s Beamer, nearly crashing into the bumper as his feet refused to stop catapulting him forward across the slick pavement. 

“Fuck - ”

“Harrington.” He regained his footing and leaned against the side of Steve’s car. 

“Jesus,” Steve huffed, the surprise on his face fading fast into a warily disgusted look, as if Billy were a skunk that could spray him at any moment. 

“No, just me.” Billy held his hands out, palms forward. “See, not crucified.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, suspiciously confused. 

Billy winced and shoved his hands back in his pockets.  _ Just get it over with, dumbass.  _

“So,” Billy cleared his throat. “I, um, just wanted to say, that I’m, ah,”  _ sorry _ “really, um, I want to apologize. For, you know, punching you and stuff.”

He could almost see Max, booing him in his mind’s eye; that was pitiful. 

Steve stared at him, frowning, his brow hardening. 

“No,” he said softly. 

“I - what? Sorry?” Billy stopped, heart in his throat. 

“No.” Steve shrugged. “No. I don’t accept it.”

“But - ” Billy faltered, heart pounding in his ears. “Why?”

“ _ Why? _ ” Steve repeated, slowly, a cruel tiny smile forming. “I didn’t think that’d need explaining, hmmmm, well we can start with you threatening my kids, destroying Mrs. Byers’ kitchen, giving me a concussion - ”

“Your kids?” Billy repeated. He could feel his face heating up in anger and shame, and he wanted Steve to stop talking, stop reminding him of that night. 

Steve crossed his arms, glaring at Billy. Everyone seemed to be doing an awful lot of that at Billy, these days. 

“What is this, anyway?” Steve waved a hand at Billy. “Community service?”

He laughed at his own joke, a little snort, and Billy glared angrily at his feet, blinking when the ground grew blurry. 

“No,” he snapped. He bit his lip, hard, and tasted blood. He breathed out slowly through his nose. 

“No,” he repeated, to the toes of his boots, blinking rapidly until he could see clearly again. “I mean it.” 

He steeled himself and looked up. “I’m sorry.”

Steve regarded him coldly, no longer sneering but his expression not warming up in the slightest. “Ok.”

“So, you accept?”

“No.”

Billy sighed. “What do I have to do?”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you actually do something?”

“I mean it.” And he did, but by saying it he surprised even himself. He would do anything, anything to get Steve to stop looking at him like a rat you found living in your recycling. But he didn’t think he’d be brave enough to say it, but now it was out and Billy was nothing if not stubborn. “I’ll do anything.”

“Ok.” Steve looked away, scratching his head. He licked his lips and Billy tried not to be too obvious about watching his tongue swipe across his skin like that. 

“Well, I need to think of something. But meet me at my locker before the bell tomorrow morning. I’ll make you a list.”

And so he had. 

The next morning, ten minutes before the bell which was the earliest Billy had ever intentionally arrived at school in his life, he waited beside Steve’s locker, glaring at the cheerleader who tried to smile at him while pulling out her French textbook. 

Five minutes later, while Billy shuffled from foot to foot anxiously, Steve arrived. He had a red beanie pulled over his head, and his fluffy brown hair curled around the brim, tickling the delicate dusting of freckles that powdered his pale neck. His jacket was unzipped, his backpack hanging on one shoulder and pulling up the hem of his navy blue sweater just enough to reveal a pencil-thin stripe of pale abdomen. 

Billy’s mouth went dry at the sight. 

Steve narrowed his eyes when he spotted Billy, that skunk sniffing scowl making haste across his pretty face. 

“Right,” he said when he stopped at his locker, eyeing Billy up and down with disdain. 

“Morning,” Billy said, hoarse, and he coughed. 

Steve turned away slightly, his backpack swinging and catching Billy painfully on his bicep. Steve opened his locker, pulling out a Pre-Algebra textbook, shifting his backpack and shrugging out of his jacket to stow that in his locker. He pulled off his beanie, smoothing a hand over his hair, and shut his locker. 

He faced Billy again, nose wrinkling in a way that would have been adorable had it not been for the disgusted look he gave Billy. It was quite adorable still, despite the fact.

“So, here you go.” Steve pulled a small scrap of paper out of his pocket. “If you’re serious, you can do my errands for me. Just mostly driving a friend around, picking up groceries, whatever.”

Billy took the small folded square of paper, tucking it safely into the breast pocket of his jean jacket. 

“And you’ll forgive me? If I do all this?”

Steve’s lip curled in amusement, as if he were laughing at a private joke. “Yeah, sure.” 

The bell rang shrilly, and students began scurrying through the hall, locker doors slamming, snow covered boots slapping against the tiled floor. 

Steve started down the hallway, raising a hand in a dismissing little wave.

“How long am I gonna be your errand boy?” Billy called after him. 

Steve glanced over his shoulder, shrugging slightly. 

“Until you’re forgiven.”

The list was rather simple, all in all. 

Billy regarded it during first period, carefully unfolding it and smoothing it out on top of his Calculus notes. 

_ Pick up Dustin - every day, after school, 3:30pm.  _ Steve’s untidy scrawl read. Billy frowned, what exactly he’d be doing with said Dustin he had no idea. 

_ Mike, Will, and Lucas might need a ride too.  _ At least he could knock out his Lucas apology on the road, he thought. Hopefully Lucas wouldn’t have a goose chase to send him on before accepting his apology. 

_ Groceries, Sunday and Thursday - call Mom _ , and he had written down what was, presumably, his home telephone number. 

_ Visit Meemaw - Sunday’s at 4pm, Hawkins Hospice _ . Billy blinked. That was it? He turned the paper over, maybe there were alternative instructions - ? But, no, that was it. 

He sighed, refolding Steve’s list and sliding it carefully back into his pocket in the space above his heart. 

Whatever it takes, right? 

Picking up Dustin was easier than he’d anticipated. Dustin was not at all perturbed by Billy’s appearance outside the middle school in place of Steve, apart from that first day, when he opened the passenger side door and climbed in, swinging his backpack onto his lap and saying to Billy, “You’re not gonna be an asshole, right?”

To which Billy bit back, “Not if you are.”

And Dustin contemplated him for a moment, prying eyes underneath that mop of curly brown hair, and then, concluding privately, shrugged, and said, “Fair enough.”

He rattled on about school, about some nerd club, about his mom’s new kitten, about Steve, about a geeky camp he couldn’t wait for over the summer. Billy remained silent that first week, offering a grunt occasionally or turning up the stereo to drown Dustin out. Dustin never seemed to mind, and hopped out of the car happily when Billy pulled up at the location of his request, which was either the arcade or his mom’s house. 

The first Friday, four days after Steve bestowed Billy the list, Lucas, Mike Wheeler, and Will Byers climbed into the back of the Camaro. They trailed anxiously behind Dustin, who strode boldly to the passenger’s seat, and all filed in, backpacks crammed onto their laps, after Dustin assured them, “It’s fine, guys, he owes Steve a favor.”

Dustin greeted him with a goofy grin. Billy stared back at three sets of eyes that regarded him fearfully in the rear view mirror. 

“So,” Mike coughed. 

“Hi,” Will squeaked.

“Hey.” Billy started the car, engine sputtering to life beneath them. He hesitated, letting the car heat up for a moment, and winced at the heavy silence. 

“We’re going to Will’s house,” Dustin piped up. “It’s up - oh, shit, you’ve been there. Ha ha.”

He laughed feebly, and Mike’s eyes narrowed into a glare from the middle seat, shoulders hunched at the low hood of the car. 

“Great.” Billy looked away, out the front window, spotting Max’s familiar flame of red hair bobbing in and out of view between queuing students as she climbed onto the school bus. When she learned about Steve’s list, she gleefully told Billy she’d catch rides home from Jonathan and Will Byers, or Lucas and Mr. Sinclair, to give Billy plenty of time to “bond” with Dustin. 

He sighed as Max disappeared onto the bus. 

“Um, Lucas,” he coughed, glancing back up at the rear view mirror. Lucas flinched, and Mike leaned protectively against him while Will’s eyes widened like an owl. “I’m, um, really sorry about, you know, everything I did. Just, sorry. Seriously.”

They were completely silent, all staring at Billy in awe, until - 

“Thanks,” Lucas said quietly. 

“Right.” Billy looked away again and shifted into drive, pulling out of the middle school parking lot. 

After a moment of awkward silence, Dustin started telling them about something involving a halfling cleric he was writing, whatever that meant, and the four of them fell into excited chatter.

The second task on the list was easier still. He called the Harrington’s number on the first Thursday, and Steve must’ve prepared his mother as well, for Mrs. Harrington answered with a far-off sounding voice and didn’t question Billy in the slightest. 

“Come on over,” she said dreamily. “I’ll give you a list and the cash, I’ll just have you swing by Lampson’s Grocery, and perhaps the pharmacy too...if that’s alright...my prescriptions, I need them but sometimes I can’t drive…”

She gave him the address and he knocked on the door twenty minutes later. When she opened the door, in silken slippers and a long flowing robe that looked like a kimono, Billy caught a huge whiff of lemon cleaning spray and port wine. She smiled wearily the whole time, and rarely made eye contact. She gave Billy a list and fifty dollars with a bony hand and patted his shoulder. 

When he returned, laden with bags of groceries and enough medication to knock out a stallion for several hours, she gestured to the dining room table. 

“Just put it all there,” she murmured, sinking onto a flowery ottoman, a glass of wine tipping in her hand. “Thank you, dear. Keep the change, won’t you?”

Billy, who’d been eyeing a framed photo of Steve in a handsome suit and tie on the wall, looked at her in surprise and shook his head, pulling the remaining cash out of his pocket. 

“I couldn’t,” he began. 

“Please, consider it gas money.” Mrs. Harrington waved a hand at the wall. “He’s a darling boy, isn’t he?”

“I, um.” Billy’s cheeks burned. “Yeah, yeah I suppose he is.”

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Harrington hummed, content, and closed her eyes, the glass tipping, a splatter of wine sinking into the plush carpet. 

“Um, Mrs. Harrington? Are you alright? I mean, do you need anything else?” Billy felt a bit unsure leaving her alone. 

“No, no,” she waved him off. “You may go, thank you.”

The third task proved a pinch more challenging. 

The first Sunday, after shoveling snow for his dad, sneaking a bagel from the fridge, and angrily , anxiously, lifting weights to Metallica, he drove to Steve’s house at noon. 

Mrs. Harrington answered the door, smiling wistfully and handing him a list with a handful of cash. 

When he returned, stomping snow off his boots and entering to drop the bags off on the dining room table, he spotted Steve in the living room, lounging on the couch in front of a flickering fireplace. 

Steve looked up, giving Billy a curious half smile, and mouthing, “Have fun with Meemaw.”

Billy blushed to the tips of his ears. 

He arrived at the Hawkins Hospice center a few minutes before four and entered the building cautiously. 

The lobby was furnished expensively, potted plants and marbled floors, and smelled like the cleanest place he’d ever been in. 

He approached the front desk, where a middle aged woman flipping through a fashion magazine smiled at him. 

“I’m looking for, um,” he hesitated, panicking slightly as he realized he had no idea who he was here to see. “Harrington?”

“Steve’s friend?” she asked kindly. 

“Yes,” he nodded, ignoring the sputtering of his heart at those two words together. 

“For Lucy?”

“Mhmmm.” Presumably. 

She picked up a telephone on the desk, speaking softly, and after a moment an attractive young man, with brown eyes that weren’t nearly as doe-y and darling as Steve’s, came into the lobby, smiling brightly. His name tag read: Nathaniel. 

Billy followed him down a hall, passed several numbered rooms where people in scrubs with kind eyes tended to old folks, and up a flight of stairs to another hallway, with more numbered rooms. 

They stopped at an open door, numbered sixty-seven, where a slightly graying nurse in scrubs sat, drinking tea and chatting to an old woman who looked, bored, out the large window. 

Nathaniel knocked politely. 

Both ladies looked up, the nurse smiling kindly and the older woman, Meemaw, gave them a haughty once over. 

“Hello! You must be Steve’s friend - ” there it was again, Billy’s heart palpitated, “ - Well, Lucy, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank heavens,” Meemaw mumbled, rubbing her wrinkly, cloudy eyes with liver-spotted hands. She locked eyes with Billy, her thin lips pulling tight into a fine line. “Hello. She’s been prattling on about Lord knows what for hours.”

Billy raised his eyebrows, but the nurse laughed, as did Nathaniel, and she, the nurse, put a hand delicately on Meemaw’s shoulder. 

“You make me laugh.” She stood and turned to Billy, still smiling. “There’s a bell beside the bed if you need anything. Steve usually stays an hour or so, but I’m sure he already told you everything.”

He hadn’t, not a word, but Billy just shrugged and watched the nurse and Nathaniel depart. 

He looked at Meemaw, who looked at him, mildly curious. 

“You’re not Steve.”

“I’m not.” 

She sat in a comfortable plush chair beside a hospital bed, and had clear tubes running from her nostrils, around her ears and down her chest connected to an oxygen tank at her side. She wore a long pink nightgown and pink slippers with bunny ears on the toes. She had short, wiry, gray and white hair that curled around her ears, and big brown eyes that looked half-blinded, but reminded him heart-wrenchingly of Steve’s, with thick brown lashes to match her grandson’s.

“Did you bring me the paper?” she asked curtly.

Billy swallowed. “I didn’t, I’m sorry. Steve never said - ”

“Never mind. Well, sit down.” She gestured to the folding chair that the talkative nurse had previously occupied. Between the folding chair and Meemaw’s was a polished, wooden side table, on which sat a deck of cards, two boxes of puzzles, and a glass of water. 

Billy sat. 

“Who are you?” Meemaw asked, hands folded over her knobby knees. 

“Billy,” Billy said. 

“You’re my Steve’s friend.” 

“Not really,” Billy looked down at his lap, feeling small. 

“No?” Meemaw eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you here, then?”

“I don’t know.” Billy fiddled with a tear in the knee of his jeans, twirling a thread between his fingers. “I guess I’d like to be his friend.”

“Hmmm.” Meemaw took a breath, and the tank hissed like Darth Vader. “My Steve is a good boy. He doesn’t have to visit his poor dying grandmother, but he always does.”

Billy wasn’t sure what to say to that. He examined the puzzles on the table; one was a 1,000 pieces of a flower garden, then other 500 of a sunset scene on Tatooine.

“You like  _ Star Wars _ ?” he asked. 

“I’ve never seen it. But Steve does, he watches it with his little friend, he brings him to visit sometimes.” Meemaw coughed, producing a withered looking handkerchief from her nightgown pocket. “Can’t remember his name.”

“Dustin?” Billy supplied. 

“That’s the one.” 

“I used to do puzzles with my mom,” Billy said thoughtfully. He plucked a thread from his knee, rolling it into a ball between his thumb and forefinger and flicking it onto the ground. He wondered why he said that; he never really talked about his mom.

“Pull one out then.” 

Billy followed Steve’s list for another two weeks, and settled into a somewhat pleasant routine. He surprised himself by laughing at one of Dustin’s jokes; at sitting with Mrs. Harrington, drinking tea and chatting until she drifted off to sleep in an ornate armchair; at playing Rummy with Meemaw, listening to her stories about Steve and her life, and even telling her about his childhood. 

At the end of the second week, on a cold Friday at the end of January, he dropped off Dustin, Lucas, and Max at the arcade. 

“See ya, Billy!” Dustin called, hopping out of the backseat. 

Lucas followed, waving to Billy, and Max clambered out after him. 

“Hey, Max?” Billy called, his voice wavering just a bit, breath puffing out of the open window and making spirals in the biting midwinter air. 

Max turned, brows raised, and jogged back to the driver’s side window. 

“Yeah?” 

“I, um,” Billy hesitated. 

Max stood there, shivering, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, an old puffy winter coat, a hand-me-down that Billy wore on a trip to upstate New York for Christmas when he was little, before his mom disappeared, before Max and Susan. He wondered, for a fleeting moment, if Neil had saved it all the years. But no, sentiment was not something his father seemed to sanction, and it was Susan, after all, who’d gone through all the boxes in the basement in California when they packed for the move cross country, the boxes that had been gathering dust since the day his mom left him. 

“I just,” he took a deep breath. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. To you, too. For everything.” 

“Oh.” Max shuffled, cheeks going pink and eyes rather watery, though perhaps it was due to the winter wind. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I never would’ve told him anything, you know. I just said that because I wanted you to take me seriously. I never,  _ ever _ , would have - ”

“I know,” Billy said hoarsely, blinking away fresh tears in the cold. “Thank you.”

Max nodded. She turned to leave, then hesitated, rushed back and gave him an award hug through the window. 

“Shut up,” she growled when he grinned, and hurried off after her friends. 

On Sunday, after scraping ice off the front steps and changing the oil in Neil’s car, Billy made his way to Steve’s. 

He knocked on the door, waiting for the shuffling of Mrs. Harrington’s silk slippers, and stumbled backwards, nearly slipping on the doorstep, when the front door pulled open and Steve gave him a tired, surprised smile. 

He wore sweatpants, tight around his waist and making Billy’s mouth water, and a ratty swim team t-shirt from several years back. His hair was mussed, and he had red creases on one side of his face, as if he’d just woken up, the sheets bunching and sticking to his sleepy skin. 

“Oh, hey,” Steve said blearily, one hand against the doorframe and the other covering his mouth as he yawned widely. 

“Hi,” Billy breathed, steadying his feet. “I was, uh, stopping by for groceries.”

“Right, right.” Steve nodded and rubbed his eyes, blinking in the late morning light and then crossing his arms in front of his chest. Billy tried not to stare at his chest, at the way his overlarge shirt pulled down slightly to reveal fine, dark hair dusting his pale skin. 

“Hmm.” Steve eyed him, a small smile crossing his face. It was wonderful, Billy thought, how it was no longer a mocking smile and now more so a curious, playful little thing. 

“I think,” Steve said, “I’ll let you off the hook now.”

Billy held his breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve grinned. “I think you’ve proved yourself.”

Billy smiled, trying to ignore the heat that crept up his neck and spread gleefully across his cheeks. “I gotta admit Harrington, I enjoyed doing your chores for you.”

Steve looked at his feet, still smiling for some unseen reason, and scratched the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, you surprised me,” he admitted. “Dustin talks about you a lot. And Mom likes you. And Meemaw kind of remembers your name.”

“That’s what I was aiming for.” 

Steve laughed, and Billy took a deep breath. 

“I was wondering, then,” he said in a rush, avoiding Steve’s gaze and focusing on a stain on the hem of Steve’s t-shirt. “If you’d wanna see a movie sometime? Or grab dinner, or something?”

He winced at the awkwardness of it, and was ready to step back and speed off should Steve refuse - 

“Oh,” Steve breathed, and Billy met his eyes, so deep and brown, and Steve was blushing too now, delicate blossoms of pink against his cheekbones. 

“I’d like that.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! come visit me on tumblr if you want to yell about these dumb boys


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